


the street of silk

by Poose, seven_hells (Poose)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 17:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/seven_hells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: Jon is a Whore. Five people he charged for his services and one he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the street of silk

King's Landing had been a better place to settle than Old Town. Part of him longed to return north - in White Harbor, maybe, he could find custom enough with sailors from across the Narrow Sea - but he knew that path was foreclosed to him.   
  
His chambers were divided by a hanging curtain, behind which he stored the reminders of his former life. On the other side of the curtain he was no one's bastard.   
  
*  
On this day it was a sailor with four foreshortened fingers. Though he kept them covered with a leather glove, Jon felt their strange shape when that hand grazed his scalp and pulled a fistful of curls in a languorous tug. His grunts were low, his pace even. Jon hardly had to do anything but arch his back and take it.   
  
*  
The spider visited as well, a man whose claim to manhood had been sliced off decades ago. Jon failed to see what made his visits pleasurable.   
  
"All in the head, my boy," the eunuch said, indicating with a slight nod that Jon should begin.   
  
The first time Varys had presented him with the object he'd recoiled, but the handful of silver that followed eased his objections. Now it was almost pleasurable to do. The eunuch's face remained impassive as he watched.   
  
"Turn your face to me," he commanded. Jon looked over his shoulder at a spot on the floor and rocked his hips - just the way  _he_  liked, hitting the place that made his face drip sweat - and gave over to it, cock in hand and a false one up his arse, when the spider said to.   
  
*  
The old man spoke softly yet his voice still made goosepimples arise on Jon's flesh. He wore a maester's robe but without a chain. His flesh was loose beneath his jowls, and his eyes were cruel.   
  
Jon sank to his knees as he was told and took the man's cock in his mouth, as he was told, and tried not to breathe in the smell of death that clung to him.

*   
Women had needs that their husbands or handmaidens did not always meet -- even the most highborn or the most wealthy were possessed of them.   
  
"Varys speaks very highly of you," said the beautiful young queen - for indeed it had been she who graced Jon with her custom, Margaery of House Tyrell. She lowered her hood and Jon could not stifle the gasp that escaped his mouth.   
  
He knelt at once.   
  
"Oh." Her laugh tinkled. "There's no need for that. Do get up."   
  
"Your Grace," he said hoarsely. "Forgive me for my impertinence. A thousand apologies would not suffice."  
  
Her eyes lit up. "Loras," she said to the white-clad Kingsguard who stood behind her, "Wait outside?"   
  
"As you wish," he said, with a slight sneer at Jon.   
  
"Now then," she purred, placing her shoe on Jon's chest and giving him a little kick. "How shall I punish you for your transgression?"   
  
Jon kissed the toe of her shoe.   
  
"A good start," she sighed, sitting back in the chair.   
  
He reached for her ankle, then, and slid his hand up to the back of her knee.   
  
"Yes," she said, "I think that will do very nicely, indeed."   
  
The Queen wore no smallclothes beneath her green silk gown. Jon was smothered by the fabric; it caught on his fingernails and clung to his beard as he explored her in the darkness created by her skirts.   
  
*  
  
This one was a smith, Jon surmised from the huge heft of his anvil arm. He pinned him to the bed with just the one hand and snarled against Jon's ear as he fucked him.   
  
After he had left his silver on the table and departed, Jon told the proprietor that he was finished for the day. He cleaned himself thoroughly, washing first his hair, then his body from the water in the basin.   
  
Jon walked the fetid, stinking streets of King's Landing, turned past the Great Sept of Baylor and went down the Street of Steel. He looked at the swords with longing and sadness, for he would never be a ranger, nor a warrior, nor a Kingsguard, not even a gold cloak or a sellsword.   
  
*  
  
"Well, bastard, these are intriguing circumstances under which to meet once more."   
  
Jon made it a point of pride to never speak back to his patrons.   
  
"Hello, Imp."   
  
"Very good, you've remembered!"   
  
"Why are you here?"   
  
"For the same reason I expect most men come here. I hear stories, you see. You're quite praised in the taverns and in certain - shall we say, circles?"  
  
"But why are  _you,"_  Jon underlined the word with his voice, " _here."_  
  
"I have coin," said the imp. "I will compensate you richly for your time."   
  
Jon Snow stared at Tyrion Lannister. Tyrion Lannister stared right back at him.   
  
Then Jon Snow started to laugh.   
  
"Keep your money, Imp," he said, making for the bed.   
  
"A Lannister al--"  
  
"Shut up," Jon snapped. "You were kind to me, once. Allow me to repay the kindness with one of my own."   
  
"Well," Tyrion said, hoisting himself up beside Jon. "You show no aptitude for bartering. I would," he went on, as Jon unlaced his breeches, "I would have paid you handsomely."   
  
Jon surmised the task that lay before him.   
  
"And they call you halfman?"   
  
That time, it was Tyrion Lannister who laughed.

 

 


End file.
